


The Autumn

by musamihi



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Angst, M/M, Melancholy, Prison, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamihi/pseuds/musamihi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dorian serves his fifteen-year prison sentence, Klaus tracks him down - and finds him very much changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Autumn

At nine-thirty in the morning, when the sun had ridden so low in the sky so as to cast a false afternoon, sending the towers and high fences stretching like dark teeth across the stark, trampled grass of the prison yards - when he had disappeared, nothing more than patch of dull gold, into the taxi in Klaus' rear-view mirror, leaving behind the chain-link gates and dormant sirens - Dorian had been wearing his court clothes, the deep blue suit of an archaic cut that had been his last presentation to the world of cameras and headline print. Klaus remembered the trial, now fifteen years past, as he watched the taxi turn out of sight, in the direction of Dorian's home: remembered his straight-shouldered pride, the playful smile of the thief in the boyish school tie. In some ways, the fifteen-year sentence had seemed like no time at all. And yet when Klaus emerged from his reflections, the two minutes spent upon them seemed to have been long enough that he wondered for a moment whether the sun was coming, or going.

And then (after following the taxi at a safe distance and waiting, waiting in a sheltered spot on the drive of the dusty North Downs estate) at two in the afternoon when Dorian finally come out of his empty house, it was as though he had never spent so much as a day apart from the world. The Jaguar in which he sped recklessly away was no more than two years old, and he parked it, accordingly, at the far end of deck when he finally made his way to the city. He stepped out onto the pavement in a suit and coat that might have been bought yesterday, sleeker, darker, for a decade less tolerant of flash than the one he had left behind. His hair still fell in every direction, even if it was streaked thickly with grey - it caught in his collar, in the folds of his scarf, or swam around his shoulders in familiar waves. Klaus smiled, unseen in the shadows that enveloped his black rental, parked inconspicuously once again opposite the elevator bays. He was glad Dorian hadn't dyed it.

And Dorian still turned heads, walking down the street. Only when he caught a mention of that notorious alias, blown back to him from a conversation some distance up the street, did Klaus feel any sort of guilt; and when Dorian ducked into a polished, unassuming storefront not far from the water, Klaus passed it by. Privacy was the least courtesy he could be extended, after so many years without. A famous face was a vulnerability that Eroica would never have thought to count among his weaknesses. If he wanted an afternoon alone, he should have it. Shouldn't he?

Four blocks of doubtful wandering later, Klaus made an unapologetic about-face, upsetting a close-pressed pair of teenagers. He retraced his steps along the river with the wind square at his back, and they seemed the quicker for it. 

His newfound purpose, the urgency the wind had lent him, seemed to evaporate as he stepped into the establishment Dorian had chosen. It was quiet, dim lit and so consistently decorated in dark wood that it might have been carved out of one block. There were tables of varying sizes pressed against the walls all round the perimeter of the room; he took a seat at the central double-sided bar that ran the length of it and from which he could see, between two top-shelf bottles of something golden, Dorian's corner table. The whole place smelled like cigar smoke and simmering brandy.

Dorian sat alone, his back to the door, working on a cup of coffee and a pile of stationery. Klaus watched the beginnings of three letters being formed - perhaps three drafts of one - waiting for a moment to interrupt. The fourth came and went, the fifth - his nerves were less stable than he could wish, he realized, and he made quick work of a bumper of whiskey, then another - forty minutes passed all told - finally the door, opening to admit a new group of guests, let in also a sudden lance of wind carrying the signs of nightfall. It roused him from his seat. He took two brandies and walked stiffly to the paper-strewn table in the corner.

He stopped at Dorian's elbow, and felt excruciatingly unprepared. "Do you mind?"

Dorian looked up with a start, his expression guarded and perfectly blank - Klaus hoped his own was much the same - and then smiled, but not without a little pain. "Of course not - please, sit." He began to collect the aborted letters into one pile. "You'll have to forgive the mess. It's good to see you - Colonel, if I'm not mistaken?" The mention of rank seemed to bring something like sentimental pride into his face; nevertheless he looked uncomfortable in his seat. Klaus pulled out the opposite chair.

He shrugged. "I'm off duty." He placed one of the brandies next to Dorian's dwindling coffee cup.

"I see." Some of the tension slipped out of his posture. "I'm glad to hear it. As you can imagine, I don't particularly fancy the idea of any further ... supervision." Dorian seemed reluctant to look him in the eye.

"We have no intention of contacting you. - Or following you. You don't need to worry about that."

He nodded. "Thank you. Then ... if you don't mind my asking, Colonel - and I hope you won't take it amiss - why are you here?"

"I heard you were getting out." It made him unhappy to feel the cool, comfortable mask of experience molding his face into that unreadable expression that had served him so well for more years than he cared to think about; but the response was as involuntary as a heartbeat. It brought with it the usual advantages, however, and as his features hardened he grew more aware of himself, of the man across from him. Dorian had changed physically, of course - it seemed he was subject to the laws of aging after all - but more striking was the slight curve to his shoulders, the relaxed brow and the absence of the constant, impertinent gaze that had long given Klaus cause for very active resentment. It was as though quiet had settled over him at last. There was a vulnerability about him, entirely new, that Klaus thought might stem from a sincere desire for privacy.

"That's very kind of you. I was always grateful for the letters - the updates your men sent along, I mean." Dorian smiled, and took a cautious sip of his drink. "I was so glad to hear you were finally getting your due."

"Now I'm surrounded by higher-ranking idiots." Klaus swallowed the better part of his brandy. Dorian followed suit with only a minor grimace. "And what about yours? You never told me what they were up to."

"Various things, I suppose. They hadn't any real reason to stay."

"No? An estate that size - you can't just let things sit, for years at a time."

Dorian lowered his eyes to the stack of half-blank pages covering one corner of the table. "Most of it's gone now, Colonel, after all - auctioned for the settlement, or in most cases returned to the - the rightful owners." The phrase stuck in his throat: he washed it down with the rest of his brandy. Klaus raised his arm towards the bar for another. "There isn't very much upkeep involved. And I could hardly expect them to wait for me, for so many years, considering ..."

Traces of bitterness seemed to deepen the lines on his face. Of course he would have to be bitter, Klaus reminded himself - the collection that had been the object of such rapturous affection, such obsessive determination for so long was scattered quite irrevocably, and Lord Gloria's name and face were as infamous as his actions. There had been little reason for his men to stay, and less still to return. 'Eroica' was nothing but a memory. He began to regret touching upon the subject so soon, and was about to take the unprecedented step of offering a tactful way to leave it behind, when Dorian looked up at him once more with an expression of humility that suited him so well it would have stricken Klaus speechless even if he hadn't been interrupted.

"As I said, they've all found various things to do. And so will I, I suppose." That was all. The old, unbreakable resolve was still present in him, but stripped of the usual mischief and careless laughter it seemed almost tired.

A waiter came to deliver two more glasses; Dorian thanked him quietly, and Klaus noted that he hadn't so much as looked at him too hard since he arrived - none of the touching, the sly smiles, the ambiguous comments, the burning stares. They finished the second round in warm silence. And when they stood to go, and Dorian let him offer him his arm instead of presuming to take it himself - Klaus thought that, really, that was all he'd ever needed.

Dorian leaned heavily against his side as they stepped out into the very end of the November twilight. "I'm sorry, Colonel - I'm afraid I haven't had a drop in ages. Out of practice ..." With a valiant effort he stood straight as they walked along the crowded street, and made to pull his arm away. Klaus held it tightly against his ribs.

"Colonel -"

"Don't worry about it." 

Dorian brow furrowed; the blush the brandy had brought to his face seemed to rise. 

"You don't have to worry about it." Klaus didn't want to wait to hear what Dorian would say, he realized; not now that he was so much less predictable. He felt something swelling in his chest as he stopped at a street corner, just short of a wide and empty bridge. The water seemed to fly under it, flowing furiously away from the west and into the night. 

The wind was whipping through Dorian's hair, pulling it out of the clumsily-wrapped scarf. Klaus turned to him, flipped up the collar and lapels of Dorian's surprisingly sedate overcoat to shelter his face from the cold, and pressed his lips to his mouth. He felt Dorian shrink against him, and he smiled. The wind was at his back.

Dorian was trembling when he broke the kiss; the light was quickly receding, but Klaus could make out the turbulence in his face. He waited patiently, impervious to the chill, and Dorian's words came not long after. 

"... I think I'd rather not be at home, tonight."

"Come back with me, then."

"You have a room?" Dorian didn't sound as though he was prepared to argue. For once.

"Not too late to get one."


End file.
